For those who looked hopefully for the fruition of Donald Trump's most promising words to our nation—"I will drain the Washington swamp"—the disappointment continues.
The Republicans love fiction: They fully believe that Trump would have ended up with a gold-plated legacy, had the glitch-plagued voting machines, blabbing hookers, nasty little niece and the early resurrection of millions of dead voters not stood in the way. Considering that he was personally chosen by God to lead our nation—something on which he's absolutely clear—we must acknowledge that only a super-storm of evil could have thwarted the will of the heavens.
That said, with America's no. 1 swamp cleanup man temporarily disempowered, D.C. continues to be plagued by the sludge, the roaches and the filthy creatures that have plagued our country for years. Not only did the proposed miracle of cleaning up the endemic slime fail to materialize; an improved sewage system has connected other teetering countries to Washington's endless supply of excrement.
I guess we could say that Trump, almost single-handedly, has created a simply genius sanitation infrastructure and shared it with the most vulnerable countries of the world. He's created new and improved glory for the U.S. as a "world leader," and his own Trump Brand of foreign, satellite regimes have followed his lead, creating deep and picturesque swamps of their own.
Needless to say—and no matter how a snake-oil salesman may spin it—these expansive lakes are totally unsuitable for water skiing or snorkeling, as noted by the skull-and-bones warning signs erected by people who still care about what happens to their nations.
Even more sensational, a surprising number of political and judicial hopefuls—encouraged that this may be the latest in health fads—have developed a way to divert some of the liquified crap to their I.V. tubing. One, Rep. George Santos, R-NY,—or whatever name he's calling himself today—claims that the sewage-infusion therapy is responsible for him "feeling like a new man" every morning. Actually, Santos is a "new man" every morning. Each day brings new revelations and George, himself, sometimes moans, "Who am I, really?"
What Santos does know is that he and Trump are soul brothers who share much of the same DNA. Like Trump, he's a valedictorian-quality graduate (just can't remember, for sure, which school), was a phenomenal success in business, amassed a fortune through his incredible smarts, created a new meaning of the word "philanthropy" with his animal-saving charity and was a star athlete, who led his volley ball team to victories over the likes of Yale and Harvard. Sadly, his prowess on the court took a heavy toll; yet amazingly, the surgical scars from his double knee replacements have totally disappeared. As they say in Brazil—apparently his actual hometown—"É um milagre," or for us gringos, "It's a miracle."
And Santos's miracles don't stop there. His dear departed mother—Fatima A.C.H. Devolder, a Brazilian national—was the only known victim of the September 11, 2001 Twin Towers terrorist attack who somehow managed, though 4,200 miles away at the time, to be buried under the rubble. Even more amazing, she died a second time, in 2015, in her own country. Described as a powerful "financial executive" by her son, it seems she was merely a humble housekeeper—nothing more but, at least, something honest. Perhaps more incredible, her parents were Jewish survivors of the Holocaust, but she's always believed she was a Catholic.
The January 6 insurrection, fueled by Trump's colossal, unrelenting lies, was just a symptom of how unhealthy our country has become. Americans are facing a crisis. Fueled by an idiotic commitment to protecting a flim-flam man who came oh-so-close to destroying our democracy, the most delusional disciples are out there with their cans of Lysol bathroom spray, trying to reinvent the meaning of "stink." And a few of Trumpty Dumpty's worshippers have given Miriam Webster a dose of "healthy" competition. There's actually a new dictionary out there, one that seems to acknowledge that language is not totally permanent—that it is actually in a state of continuous evolution.
Here's just one example from the Grand Ol' Party's Official Dictionary: Lie, (n) A word used by political adversaries to discredit well-established facts.
One doesn't have to be a genius to understand; it's totally un-American for a man like Santos, despite early revelations of his capacity as a creator of fiction, to have been sworn in as a congressman anyway. Even New York's GOP masters have asked for his resignation, but George is not about to give up the power he was awarded by the electorate. He simply refused, noting that the voters elected him—but failing to acknowledge that they had simply voted for a fictional character who has no business being in Congress.
Almost worse—if that's even possible—Kevin McCarthy, new Speaker of the House, has already besmirched his own legacy by failing to block Santos's assignment to two key congressional committees.
Folks, this is not rocket science. After January 6, we should be acutely aware of the danger of a lie. I am personally dismayed that a political party—any party—is so dedicated to success-at-any-cost politics, that they'll install the dregs of society in our nation's highest positions. It makes me wonder: Will America ever learn, or will we continue to face the prospect of the rising sewage levels that threaten our country?
The author is a retired novelist, columnist, and former Vietnam-era Army assistant public information officer. He resides in Riverton with his wife, Carol, and the beloved ashes of their mongrel dog.
